


The Similarity Between Mistakes and Mechanical Arms

by MaskoftheRay



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Complicated Relationships, Crash Landing, Darth Vader & Luke Skywalker Bonding Time, Darth Vader Has Issues, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Injured Darth Vader, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Mechanical Repairs, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Parent Darth Vader, Protective Luke Skywalker, Self-Esteem Issues, Trust Issues, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: is that they both require repairs.Or Darth Vader crash-lands on a jungle planet after being shot down in battle by his own son and finds himself in need of fixing-up. Coincidentally, Luke is shot down as well and is perfectly willing to help his Father with said repairs.
Relationships: Darth Sidious & Darth Vader, Darth Vader & His Trust Issues, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 250





	The Similarity Between Mistakes and Mechanical Arms

**Author's Note:**

> “I’m dedicating every day to you  
> Domestic life was never quite my style  
> When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart  
> And I thought I was so smart”  
> — “Dear Theodosia,” _Hamilton_ , by Lin-Manuel Miranda

_This will be a problem_ , the Sith Lord thought darkly. A guttural growl— his vocoder’s equivalent of a heavy sigh— pierced the jungle’s relative quiet. Fortunately, Darth Vader’s person was largely undamaged, aside from his arms. As was his ship. Not enough for it to be useable, at least for the moment, but it would provide adequate shelter until he was able to fix—

The bushes rustled, and, automatically, the Sith Lord reached for his lightsaber, grimacing at the spasm that ran through his less damaged hand. His left merely twitched.

“Father?”

Vader blinked. “Luke.” _What is he doing here? I thought—_ “I see that you were unable to evade my fire.” He couldn’t help the slight smugness that slipped into that statement. The boy was a talented pilot, as good as Anakin Skywalker had ever been. It was gratifying that Darth Vader was, if not better, at least his equal. It ~~made him proud~~ pleased the Sith Lord that Luke had inherited that skill as well… so far as it allowed him to land safely, despite his ship’s abysmal condition.

Luke sighed, and sent him a long-suffering look. “Says the man who _also_ got himself shot down.” Then he swept back his bangs— too long, not at all proper for a military official— and Vader saw that his forehead was beaded with sweat. _It must be hot_ , he thought absently. His breath cycled over once more. He went to clip his lightsaber back to his belt, for there was no threat here— unless the child had finally learned subtlety— and his hand spasmed.

The Sith Lord tried to reach out with his other hand, but it didn’t respond. With a soft thump, the lightsaber landed in the grass. The already crumpled wing of his _TIE_ made a wretched groaning sound as something invisible compressed it further. Amidst this, Vader had quite forgotten his son’s presence. Luke made a low, alarmed noise, and then strode forward, carefully picked up the errant lightsaber, and clipped it onto his belt beside ~~his other one~~ the Jedi’s which he used.

Before the Sith Lord had time to think about this, or complain about being so easily disarmed— _ha_ — Luke had walked up to him and was now staring down at his twitching left arm. “May I?” the boy asked. He was only inches from Vader’s chest, squarely in front of the Sith Lord’s life support panel. If he hadn’t been in the suit, Vader imagined that he could probably have felt the warmth of his son’s body heat.

He blinked. “May you what?”

This time, the boy’s frown read as concerned. He seemed unnecessarily worried by the possibility that Vader might have hit his head in the crash too. “Examine your arm— well, I guess _arms_. They seem to be malfunctioning.”

He blinked again, and there was a slight hitch in his breathing. It came across as a vague hiss. “Thank you for your… concern, young one. But I am more than capable of repairing them myself.”

His son looked doubtfully down at the exposed mechanics, the slightly-flattened fingers of his right hand. “If you say so.” Awkwardly, Vader turned around, and headed back to his downed ship. Hopefully his toolkit had survived. Otherwise, this would be a _far_ more difficult task. And in that case, he might have no choice but to accept his son’s assistance.

“What are you looking for?”

He did not jump, for Sith Lords did not startle. Vader stilled, and his helmet snapped around to stare blankly at the young man sitting on a felled tree beneath the shade of one of the _TIE_ ’s wings. “My toolkit. Do you not have a more suitable place to await rescue?”

Luke chuckled, swinging his legs errantly. “Nope. My astromech’s fried— Artoo needed repairs, so I was using a replacement— and so is my communicator.” His legs suddenly stopped swinging as the child apparently realized how that sounded. “It won’t be that difficult to fix, of course,” he added hastily, “and I’m sure the others haven’t left the system yet, so—”

“You may borrow mine.” Luke blinked. Vader stilled. _Fool_. “Once my prosthetics have been repaired,” he amended stiffly.

Surprisingly, the boy laughed. “Yes, there _is_ that. And while I appreciate the offer, Father, it’s pointless; the Alliance won’t accept a call from a random channel. So I guess we’ll both be stuck doing repairs.”

Vader’s breath hitched again, this time for an entirely different reason. “I suppose we will.”

_If only I did not **need** these blasted arms, I would send them straight to the nine Sith hells_. Vader breathed out slowly as one of his malfunctioning fingers twitched again, and he nearly dropped the small screwdriver he was using to remove the damaged panels of his prosthetic. Most of the protective exterior layer— which hid the access panels and screws— had either come off in the crash or been removed by him. The Sith Lord caught the wayward screwdriver using the force, but it was still frustrating. As was the way a slight shuddering had started up in his left arm again.

 _“Patience, Anakin,”_ he recalled **someone** telling him frequently. He snarled. _Patience will not repair my arms, only time and skill will_. Vader discretely looked up. Luke had settled onto the ground beneath his _TIE_ and was still busy with his own project. He had the remains of a communicator spread out on his flight suit. Although his brow was furrowed, it seemed like he at least was making good progress. The Sith Lord clenched his fist— or at least tried to— and hissed again as his arm spasmed and let out a horrible high-pitched grinding noise.

At this, Luke’s head snapped up, and he frowned. Vader suppressed another sigh and quickly lowered his gaze to the troublesome limb. If he could just get this panel off, he could access the backup neural interface switch and finally put an end to this infernal twitching. The screwdriver slipped into place again, and— his half-gone index finger twitched, and the tool slipped loose.

Vader carefully lowered his arm and loosened his right hand so as not to crush the screwdriver. _I am still in need of my tools_ , he reminded himself, closing his eyes behind the mask in a largely unsuccessful attempt to control the simmering frustration and anger he felt. _Destroying the toolkit, while temporarily satisfying, will be detrimental to long-term goals_.

There was a quiet sigh just before him.

His eyes snapped open, but the Sith Lord’s initial alarm dissipated rapidly once he realized it was just Luke. The boy had evidently abandoned his own repairs and was now standing there, looking down at his damaged arms. Both in the force and on his face frustration shone through. Somehow, the boy seemed to realize that he now had Vader’s attention, for he stared straight into Vader’s eyes. “Father,” he began slowly, “please let me help you.”

“No,” he insisted stubbornly. “I am capable of—”

A flash of irritation shone in his son’s eyes. “Yes, I _know_ you are, Father. But in this case, it’d be quicker if I helped. I’ve got my own repairs to make, you know. And if we’re going to have any chance of getting off-world before nightfall, we need to act quickly.”

He felt guilt bloom in his gut, and after several seconds, reluctantly acquiesced, “Very well, Luke. But if you are fearful of local predators, then the rebel’s spy network is more incompetent than I had imagined. My operatives have informed me that there is no carnivorous wildlife on this planet.”

Despite the insult, Luke looked rather comforted. “Well that’s good news— doesn’t mean that I’m any more eager to spend the night, though. I only have a ration bar, and half a canteen of water left.” With that, his son hopped onto the _TIE_ ’s wing beside him. He hesitated, then peered up at Vader. “Mind telling me how this thing works so I can get started?”

Vader hummed, amused. “First you must finish removing the secondary panels and switch off the backup neural interface. After that has been done, I shall give you more instructions.”

“Alright.” Luke gently grabbed his damaged left arm, and guided it to rest just above his knee. “Let me know if I’m doing something wrong, or if I’m hurting you.”

 _There is no measure of pain I have not felt already_ , he thought. But that admission would surely distress the boy, and therefore only slow his progress. And Vader knew— keenly— that Luke had his own repairs to worry about. “Very well.”

Luke nodded absently, and then his son’s force presence dissipated as he turned his attention to Darth Vader’s arm and the panels on it.

“Father?”

Vader blinked. While his arm was no longer capable of feeling _pain_ , it was still… uncomfortable as well as unsettling, to see it in its current deactivated state. From a little above his left elbow, his arm mechanical arm was now resting limply in his son’s grasp, fingers slack and loose. So he had been focusing elsewhere, contemplating his next moves— behind heavy mental shields, of course— while also half-alertly monitoring Luke’s activities. “What is it, young one? Have you encountered a problem?”

Luke grimaced, as if stung by his father’s doubting his mechanical abilities. _So like ~~he~~ Anakin had been_. “No. I was just… well, I was wondering why _you_ needed to fix the ship? I mean, you’ve got a working communicator, and I get wanting to have full use of your own arms, but, waiting to call for help seems… unnecessary.”

Vader blinked again. His breathing was loud in the silence. Carefully keeping his tone neutral, the Sith Lord asked, “And how did you know that I desire to repair my ship?”

Luke frowned, carefully setting his dead arm down as he seemed to think the matter over. His brow furrowed. Then he met Vader’s gaze. “I… sensed it? There was- an _intent_ there.” The boy blinked, and then asked, apparently undeterred, “But why do you want to fix it?”

In the silence, the air shimmered with Luke’s expectancy.

‘Because to do otherwise would be a sign of weakness,’ he almost said. It would be a waste of his men’s resources, as surely Admiral Piett had them tracking down the rebels, or at least gathering what information they could from the battle-site. The Emperor would punish his apprentice for the lack of self-sufficiency and his incompetence if he called for _help_. Because in a rare moment of weakness, Vader was not sure he could _trust_ those who would come to ‘rescue’ him— even if they were among his own crew. _Because I am a Sith Lord and the Sith do not rely on others, and if I am here, repairing my ship, the less time I will have to track you and your friends down_.

“I am a Sith Lord. Accepting outside assistance is frowned upon by our kind.”

Luke pointedly looked down to where Vader’s open, gutted arm rested in his lap. He looked up, a challenge evident by the spark in his eye and the set of his jaw. _Blast_. “Then why am _I_ allowed to help you?”

‘Because you are _my **son**_ ,’ he almost said. But Vader was able to bite down on the response at the last minute. “You have confiscated my weapon, and without the use of my arms I am too weak to attempt any meaningful resistance.”

Luke blanched, abruptly looking horrified. There was a sharp spike of anger and sorrow in the force— _not_ directed at him, curiously— and then the boy closed his eyes, and muttered, “Oh, stars…” He sighed, stared at his father very intently, and gently placed the limp arm on the Sith Lord’s thigh. “I- I thought that—” Luke cut himself off again, swallowing. He seemed hesitant. “You know that I’d _never_ force you to do something against your will, right?”

He flinched. Visibly. The movement jerked his arm, and caused another spasm to run through his still activated right hand. Luke frowned, but carefully didn’t say anything. Vader sighed. _Of course. He grew up on **Tatooine** too_. “Forgive me, Luke. I did not mean to imply that you would. It has been a long time since—” _I had anyone to **trust**_.

The unfinished statement hung awkwardly between them before Luke offered him a small smile, and carefully placed a hand on his father’s awkward, stiff shoulder. In that moment, almost more than he had wished for anything else, Vader wished that he could have felt the warmth of his son’s touch. But he could not. Luke removed his hand. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to continue working on your arm, Father. I think I’m almost done.”

He waited for the Sith Lord’s go-ahead before touching him again. Carefully and without any outward signs of expectancy. Vader inclined his head, and though the emotion was carefully hidden from his response, he felt _moved_ by Luke’s courtesy anyway: “Go ahead, my son.” _I trust you to act swiftly and with care. I trust **you**_. 


End file.
